


Silk Sheets and Caviar Are Only The Beginning!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Luxury - It was one of the things Actor considered himself the resident expert on (along with a thousand OTHER things, of course).  Well, perhaps he was, and perhaps he wasn't.   After all, 'luxury', like so many other words, could mean entirely different things to different people.(Set fairly early on, before any of the more complicated personal relationships are formed.)





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more lecture from their Italian conman, one with some surprising results. Well, who knew Goniff was actually LISTENING??

Actor had droned on and on about it. Luxury. The other three had listened, well, half-listened. To be honest, they'd started to check out after he'd started comparing the differences between silk and satin for sheets, not to mention his oratory about how Sevruga caviar just couldn't compare to even the least expensive Beluga. Casino wasn't sure how anyone could get so charged up over fish eggs, but whatever.

Garrison had come in, listened for a few minutes, then made an awkward excuse and left. The others would have liked to, but they gritted their teeth, stayed and tolerated it. After all, as obnoxious as the Italian could sound sometimes, he'd been very supportive of them in recent weeks, and they figured maybe he just needed to remind himself of what he'd once had and hoped to have again. Not like they intended to cut him that much slack ALL the time, a guy could just put up with so much fancy bullshit, but for now, well, they'd play along. After all, all that lecturing was probably distracting him from that wrenched shoulder he'd gotten making sure they got away from the Germans on that last mission. They owed him at least this much.

But still, him thinking he had a lock on the concept of luxury? Along with a few OTHER little things he figured he knew more about than any of them? Well, the others could have explained a thing or two to him. And if he kept up with the snooty tone, they just might! {"Maybe with my fist up against his highfalutin aristocratic nose!"} Casino had thought.


	2. Goniff And His Brilliant Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slip of the tongue leads Goniff to a memorable afternoon, and inspires one of his 'brilliant' ideas. Well, sometimes they were, sometimes they weren't, and in this case, only time would tell.

Goniff couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth! If he could have just made himself disappear right then and there, he would have!

{"Of all the ruddy stupid things to say! Why couldn't I 'ave said something like w'at Actor would 'ave come up with?? Even maybe w'at the Lieutenant might've said? Something impressive, something charming, something sophisticated, something . . . "}. 

Well, he knew he wasn't sophisticated, though he had been known to play the part in the distant past when it had been required for a couple of jobs uptown, and his usual form of 'charming' was a hell of a long way from what the tall Italian spun out. But still, surely he could have done better than THAT!!!

He looked at her apprehensively, wincing visibly at what her response would surely be. He replayed the stupid, STUPID thing he'd said in response to her question.

After hearing him tell her about Actor and his droning on and on about 'luxury', how to recognize it, how to properly appreciate it, how to describe it to others so as to 'enlighten' them so they might learn to appreciate it as well, "like 'is notion of it was all there could be!", she'd tilted her head to one side and asked that question.

"And what do YOU consider luxury? If you could name three or four things, right now, that you would consider a personal luxury, what would they be?"

And him, stupid idiot that he was, instead of stopping and thinking of something that sounded impressive and high minded? He'd just automatically told her the truth! What the ruddy hell was with that, anyway??! He didn't much tell ANYONE the truth, hadn't in years!

But he'd said it, all out loud, without even a pause. 

"To be clean, all over soaking-in-'ot-water clean, not just a 3-minute shower with a thin sliver of soap and a fast rinse to my 'ead. And after, a cup of 'ot tea, a real cuppa, not w'at passes anymore, maybe with something sweet to go by, and time to sit back and enjoy them properly. That would be a luxury, right enough!" 

There was more, but his common sense had stopped him just in time from adding anything more. As stupid as all that sounded, just how much more would it sound if he had told her, "a quiet afternoon, just sitting, with someone to smile at me, talking with me, like they meant it. No, not just LIKE they meant it, but really meaning it! Talking with me because they really WANTED to, like they wanted to 'ear w'at I 'ad to say, 'ad things they wanted to share with me too."

Coo, likely laugh in his face, and he wouldn't blame her, not one bit! She should be laughing at him already, just with that first!

Actor had talked of silk sheets and brocade smoking jackets, fine champagne, caviar on little bits of toasted bread, a kind of tobacco you couldn't even get anywhere in London these days; the symphony on one night, followed by a Shakespearean play the next, and a night in a fine library the next. 

HIM? HE starts maundering on about a hot-water bath, of all things! And a cup of tea and something sweet. She must think him a right dolt!

 

Later, letting his damp hair complete its slow drying in the gentle flow of sweetly scented air from the garden through the cottage, feeling the shift of his fatigues against skin that actually felt three layers thinner for the soaking in that hot water and the scrubbing with that new cake of soap laid out on the rim of the tub, he reached for the cup on the small table beside the big arm chair. He intended to have a nice sip or two before he broached those little hot fruit dainties sitting along side. The tea might be garden mint, not Twinings like he'd been thinking of, but somehow that didn't matter nearly as much as you might think.

How she'd managed those 'fried pies' as she'd called them, in the time he'd spent in her small bath, he didn't know. Maybe it was magic; he was willing to put it down to that without question. For if it wasn't magic, how had she known that last item on his list, the one he'd left unspoken? He took that first sip of tea, looking at her quiet, welcoming smile, seeing it reflected in her eyes, not a particle of dissembling there. 

{"Magic. Ruddy well 'as to be, no other explanation for it otherwise,"} he told himself, reaching for that first hot pie, finding it stuffed with cherry preserves, though whether he was meaning the pies, her knowing, or just the magic of the whole afternoon, who knows. He certainly couldn't have told you.

{"Don't rightly care, though, magic or not. Ruddy 'ell, Actor aint got any real idea about luxury, 'im and 'is silk sheets and all that!"}. 

He smiled and let himself lean back into the big chair, sheer contentment flooding his body and spirit, and she smiled back, her equally content at what luxury she'd been privileged to provide him this fine afternoon. 

So she'd be bathing in a basin with the water measured out in the scant cupsfull for the next several days to make up for the water used in that deep bath; so that bar of creamy fresh-smelling soap had been a special treat she'd intended to tuck into that basket she was putting together for an old friend; it was well worth it, seeing that lazy look of sated pleasure in his eyes now. And perhaps she'd check her sources in London and elsewhere; surely she could come up with a tin of really good tea somewhere, just to have on hand. This had been far too sweet a pleasure to think it wouldn't come again.

How could he possibly know how much it meant to her - having him here, watching him, his face, his eyes, as he talked about this and that, listening to that voice that ruffled her senses in a way she'd never known before. Watching his hair lighten from the darkness the hot water had given it to something more approaching his usual flaxen-blond. 

Having him here with her, being allowed to provide to him what small comfort, what luxury she could provide, watching the pleasure it brought him. How could he know THIS was the height of luxury for HER? 

A slow twisting caught at her stomach, and she tensed, but then put it down to a release of tension, and decided it was something to be ignored. 

^^The Dragon, the one who dwelt within her, knew differently, though trying to be careful and not draw the young woman's attention again. 

{"He warms her heart and heats her blood. He makes her smile, even laugh, which she has done precious little of in recent years. He even exercises her mind trying to figure out how HIS works, and rightfully so, since it seems to take the most unexpected and unusual turns."}. 

The Dragon slowly, carefully unfurled her wings and smiled. She had wondered if this one who carried her would ever reawaken and soar as she had been born to soar; as she had soared as a child and then as a very young woman. Now, maybe, finally, the one called the Dragon was ready to once again BECOME the Dragon in truth.

"Yes, little one," she urged silently. "Listen to his voice, watch his face, his eyes, inhale his scent til it fills your lungs, your head, your very being. Let him reawaken you, for you have been asleep for far too long."

If any had heard her, had wondered at her easy acceptance of the small wiry pickpocket, she would have looked at them with sheer incomprehension. Spirit she judged, yes; heart and mind and resolution, that was worthy of consideration. Inner strength, yes, that and a caring heart seemingly bigger than he himself was. What these odd Outlanders used to judge, she did not know nor did she care.

"Outtlanders!" she would have sniffed. "Fools, most of them, in most ways. Tossing away and leaving precious jewels among the cobblestones as if they had no value, while clasping worthless bits of trash to themselves so eagerly!"

And she smiled in anticipation. While she could see this one found her young host attractive, she also had a feeling he would find HER attractive as well. She found herself longing to preen herself in front of him, to see his admiring eyes caressing her gleaming scales and graceful wings, to feel his fingers tracing her long sinuous neck, her supple horns. She shivered at the thought.

Yes, this one was a treasure, to be sure, Ashtore, as the Clan designated such. Now, to wait til they figured this thing out between them. She sighed, knowing that would be no easy or quick thing. 

"Children, so stubborn sometimes! Perhaps I can give just a gentle nudge every now and then to keep things moving along."  
^^ 

 

Meghada shivered at the odd feeling that had come over her, the sensation of almost-words gliding past her mind and determinedly set all that aside. She turned her mind back to the story he was telling her, snuggled back into her own chair, sipping at her mint tea, determined to relish every moment. Trying not to dwell on the growing suspicion that this 'luxury' had the strong potential for becoming, for her anyway, a 'necessity'. She was a Dragon, after all, in far more than just in name. 

{"Odd, thinking of that all of a sudden. Most odd."} recalling that odd sensation she'd had earlier, remembering, remembering.

 

While she was thinking on that, Goniff had just had the most brilliant thought! Now, that was surely enough to scare his teammates, Lieutenant Garrison and probably the Sergeant Major witless if they'd known. For what Goniff considered brilliant? Well, sometimes the others had a few OTHER words that might better apply! Oh, it wasn't always the THOUGHT; that was often quite sound - it was more how the wiry pickpocket went about things that often brought the most unexpected results.

{"I wonder w'at Casino and Chiefy and the others think, REALLY think, would be luxury? Wouldn't that be something, figuring that out and managing to give each of THEM w'at I got a taste of this afternoon??! Coo! That really WOULD be something!"}. 

He resolved to spend more time with that thought, but later, not right now. This was HIS time, his spot of luxury, and he intended to enjoy every last moment of it!

 

Looking back, Meghada could only thank her lucky stars that Goniff had been too shy of telling the guys what HIS own bit of luxury had consisted of; that kept him from explaining just where he'd gotten the idea in the first place. As it was, everyone decided to put the blame, or maybe credit, squarely at Actor's feet, and the Dragon didn't see any reason to say otherwise. 

Of course, that didn't mean she hadn't gotten one hell of a lot of amusement out of the whole thing, because she had. Well, how could it have been otherwise, when . . .


	3. "Garlic and Anchovies - For Breakfast??"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought that Goniff providing a 'little bit of luxury' for Casino would result in a forty-eight hour pass for the team and a thorough airing-out for the Mansion?

When they'd come back from that mission where they'd spent some of the down hours talking about all kinds of things, food and women vying for first place in their conversation, a hobbling Goniff had sat down with Meghada's cookbooks, had asked her to help him when he didn't find what he was looking for. 

"Got all misty-eyed, 'e did, talking about it. Said 'is mum would make it, and all the family would sit around, talking and laughing and eating this 'bag na cold', and 'e just dreams of that sometimes. But I can't seem to find it anyw'ere! Think maybe I 'eard 'im wrong." 

He'd seemed so disappointed, she started making a few calls to friends who might have some idea of what that mysterious 'bag na cold' might be.

"Bagna cauda; it's made with garlic and anchovies. Seems there's various ways. Some made with olive oil, some with butter, some have butter AND heavy cream. Some argue for raw or poached vegetables for dipping, others say bread only, and Evangeline says her mother spooned it over fried polenta, that's seemingly cornmeal mush, for breakfast!"

Goniff had furrowed his brow in thought. "Don't know which 'is mum made, and can't go asking. Guess I need to do each. Can you write all that down for me, go through it with me til I get it straight? And if I get you the ready, think you could find me w'at we need?"

 

The kitchen was a mess, Sergeant Major was fuming. "You were supposed to be resting that ricky ankle, Goniff! That was w'at you SAID you were going to be doing while the rest of us were off training. Just w'at is all this??" looking at the various pots set over the candle-trays in the middle of the table.

"Just a little surprise for Casino, Sergeant Major," Goniff had replied, grinning with anticipation. The wide towel he'd pinned over his front had kept his fatigues relatively undamaged, but he was nursing a couple of burns from splashing oil, along with one small cut when it turned out peeling and chopping those slippery garlic cloves was a little harder than you'd think.

Gil Rawlins looked at the three hot pots, the platter of sliced vegetables, the big basket of bread, and a bowl of what appeared to be cornmeal mush.

Without a word he went to search out Lieutenant Garrison over at the jump tower and explain that their resident pickpocket had lost his mind and had just spoiled what was probably weeks worth of oil and dairy rations. 

"And I can't make any sense of the WHY of it, Lieutenant! Something about a surprise for Casino? Well, 'e aint the only one, I can tell you that! One look at my kitchen and I got quite a surprise myself!!"

Garrison was on his way to try and make heads or tails out of the impassioned outburst, figure out what had caused their Englishman to go off the rails like that, but he paused in the doorway of the kitchen, taking it all in.

The thing most obvious, well, aside from the heady aroma of garlic and the unbelievable mess on the counters and stove and in the sink, was the incredulous grin on Casino's face as he sat there eagerly explaining to the others just what was what regarding the various pots in the middle of the table.

"See, this one, it's like what my mom always made. But THIS one, this is like my Nonna, my grandmother on my father's side, used to serve up when we'd go over there. And that one, at the end? My Aunt Dodie. Once, after they'd been 'discussing' which was the right way to make it, and the rest of us knowing better than to get in the middle of THAT, Nonna and Aunt Dodie went back home and made their own version and brought it all over to our place. Mom had hers all ready and they heated theirs up on the stove, and then it was all laid out on the table, just like this! Never ate so much in my life, and never DID figure out which I really thought was best! Man, I aint had anything like this since before I ended up in the slam!"

Hearing that, seeing the men sampling, smiling and laughing and talking, Garrison didn't have the heart to yell. {"And I don't know whose grin is the widest, Casino's or Goniff's,"} he'd chuckled as he walked in. Accepting an invitation to "pull up a chair and taste the best thing you'll ever put in your mouth, Warden!", Garrison did just that. 

He sat, he sampled, he listened as Goniff explained, "and the mush, it's called polenta, it seems, in the morning, we can fry any left up in little squares and pour w'at's left of w'at's in the pots over it for breakfast!" And if Garrison couldn't quite feel the same level of enthusiasm for that garlic-and-anchovies-for-breakfast notion as Casino and Goniff obviously did, still, he didn't nix the idea. 

"As long as you do the cleaning up, guys, tonight and in the morning. It's not fair to stick the Sergeant Major with this kind of mess." 

Surprisingly he didn't get any quarrel with that from anyone. It seems everyone, even Actor, was enjoying their repast, though Garrison left after just a little while. 

{"I like garlic, but a little goes a long way for me. And there was nothing 'little' about what was in those pots!"}

His opinion was only solidified the next day.

Garrison's eyes were watering from the intensity. It had been there earlier, the smell of garlic, but now, after the men had taken the jump tower, then run the obstacle course and really started to sweat, it was overpowering, rushing at him in waves. The Lieutenant had never doubted his own resolution, had never had his courage fail him, not until now. But the thought of spending the next couple of days with these walking garlic dispensers was suddenly more than he could bear. {"They've been wanting some leave time; I think now is the PERFECT occasion!"}. 

He watched from his office window as the jubilant men piled into the car and headed off to London on a hastily-arranged forty-eight hour pass. Turning to the Sergeant Major standing next to him, "and we just hope the garlic wears off before they get back! God help us if we get called on a mission! They'd smell us a mile away." 

Gil Rawlins had to agree. He had all the windows open upstairs and down, even left the door to the kitchen standing wide open. He wasn't a huge fan of garlic to begin with; after this, he'd be just as content never to even hear the WORD again! {"Course, may never be able to use the car again."}


	4. "Just Like Being Outdoors!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figuring out what would be a 'little bit of luxury' for Chief had been a no-brainer for Goniff. He knew EXACTLY what his teammate would like, and all it would take would be a few supplies and a little work on his part. How hard could it be? After all, Actor had explained all about such things only a week or two ago.

"Paint? What kind of paint?" Meghada had asked. She had quickly learned never to make assumptions about what Goniff had in mind. Oh, the assumption that he was hungry and wouldn't mind a snack was always valid, but most else? Goniff was, well, imaginative, and his imagination was often a little off the common track.

She listened, cocking her head to one side. 

"And have you done many such things before? It sounds like a big job, and one taking a fair amount of . . . ". 

She hesitated, not wanting to sound discouraging, or worse, doubting of his abilities. That left out the words that came most to mind, like 'skill', 'talent', and so forth. She settled for a quickly uttered, "one taking a fair amount of time without anyone around to see before you're ready."

He'd beamed at her, "oh, got all that figured out. Got a dodge I've been saving for just the right occasion. And I've got it all pictured in my 'ead, w'at I'm aiming for, w'at I'll need. Just need some 'elp with supplies and such."

He'd looked so enthusiastic, so eager, that she just didn't have the heart to try and dissuade him. And besides, she really wanted to see the final result - how Chief reacted, the guys, and oh Sweet Mother! How Garrison and Sergeant Major Rawlins reacted! She didn't start laughing, at least not out loud, til Goniff had been gone for almost ten minutes, him happy and secure in her promise to get him everything he'd asked for. 

"Bright blue, not dark but as bright as I could find, he said, some really shiny white, and all the rest. This is going to be something to behold!" she told herself, still chuckling at what he'd described to her.

Goniff was gleefully telling himself much the same as he walked along. {"Blue, something real bright, and shiny white, and black and yellow and red and green! Blimey, this is gonna be something else!"}

 

Looking up at the ceiling of the Common Room, at that eye-watering expanse of bright (really bright!) blue, with the white formless splotches supposedly depicting clouds, and the almost-scary looking winged creatures of various colors flying overhead, Chief found himself smiling. It might not make him feel like he was outside, {"aint NEVER seen anything like that outside!"}, no, not really. But knowing what had inspired that rather grotesque masterpiece, eyeing their grinning, paint-spattered pickpocket, one arm in a hastily-prepared sling from where he'd sprained it when that make-shift scaffolding had tipped over, he found himself thinking that maybe it wasn't great art, but the warm feeling of knowing Goniff had done all this just for him, just to give him something special, that made it a priceless luxury. Because that was how the little Cockney had explained it to the steaming Garrison and a sputtering Sergeant Major who was standing by hoping against hope for something that made SOME particle of sense.

"See, Warden, figured Chiefy needed a bit of luxury for a change. And seeings 'e's not so much for the fancy stuff like Actor was describing, figured maybe this'd be just the ticket. Just like being outdoors, don't you think? On a nice summer's day. Blue sky, lovely white clouds, all the birds and such? Thought about maybe putting the sun over there in the corner, but it seemed that might make it overly bright."

Goniff's chest was puffed out, and he was grinning with delight, obviously taking great pride in what he'd accomplished.

Actor was sitting, speechless, in his armchair. He hadn't had the nerve to look up after that first incredulous, shocking glance. He KNEW he'd never have the nerve to admit to Garrison that he'd been lecturing the men only a week or so ago on the fine murals painted on the ceilings in Rome. 

Casino was seated at the table, his forehead on his folded arms, shoulders shaking at his uncontrollable reaction to the whole thing.

 

Garrison had listened, incredulous, and had squinted back up at the ceiling, feeling like he needed dark glasses. {"He thought adding a sun might make it too BRIGHT??!"}

The paint thankfully didn't obscure the rather fine molding, as Goniff had used it as a sort of a frame for his masterpiece. Garrison looked around at the tarps covering the furniture and floors ("a good thing, considering the amount of paint that landed there!"), the juryrigged scaffolding laying in pieces on the floor {"I'm surprised he didn't break his neck!"}, and then at his somewhat worse-for-wear resident pickpocket. His lips quirked as he fought the smile, hell, the laugh he wanted to give way to. 

Still, even knowing just how much trouble this little 'artistic endeavor' was going to rain down on him from the next house inspector, seeing the open smile of appreciation on Chief's face made him hesitate, then decide against issuing a quick order to put the ceiling back the way it had been. {"Considering the intensity of those colors, I imagine it'd take three or four coats at least! We'll let the military take care of that when we move out."}. 

And, if he was being totally honest, the look of sheer horror on Actor's face was something he was enjoying tremendously. Picturing the aristocratic art expert and connoisseur having to sit here with THAT above him, every night and day til the war was over was utterly priceless. Because Actor didn't HAVE to remind Garrison about that little lecture on ceiling murals; Garrison remembered it quite well.


	5. "A Little Piece of Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would be a luxury to a man who seemingly had little more than the bare necessities? Maybe an outpouring of, well, everything! After all, Goniff rarely did things in half-measures.

"What the hell are you up to? You're gonna get your head handed to you anyone catches you in here, ya know." 

Well, that was true enough. The Sergeant Major's small room had been put off limits after that last little bit of trickery, and it HAD sounded like Garrison had meant every word of that very loud dressing-down he'd given the whole lot of them.

Goniff wrinkled his nose and looked up at Chief. When he'd heard that door open he'd thought he was a goner for sure. While it was a heck of a relief to see it wasn't the Sergeant Major or Garrison, still, he was in a quandary. His brief spell of sitting on the side of the Sergeant Major's cot hadn't helped much, and he'd really hoped it would.

"Keep trying to come up with an idea for a bit of luxury for the Sergeant Major, Chiefy, but it aint easy. It's not like we're with 'im all the time, like with each other. Not enough to know what 'e'd really relish, you know. Figured there might be something in 'ere to 'elp me along, but . . . "

Goniff gave a despondent shrug.

Chief looked around carefully. "Not too surprising. Don't seem like too much of anything in here at all."

Goniff started to agree, there being only the sagging cot, a battered footlocker in the corner, a few books stacked along side. Then, he straightened up, and his eyes brightened, and Chief waited for whatever had just occurred to his teammate to come tumbling out. Obviously he'd just had an idea, and Chief remembered quite well how some of Goniff's ideas turned out. 

The Common Room ceiling was a daily reminder, one that still made Actor wince and Casino snort with amusement. Chief had decided, even declared out loud, that it was his favorite piece of great art; had told Actor "you keep telling us great art speaks to the spirit, tells us something, reminds us of important things. Well, that does!" Goniff hadn't lost that huge smile for days after hearing that.

"So, whatta ya got in mind?" Chief asked, figuring it might be safest all around if he had some idea up front. Just in case.

"Well, look around you, Chiefy. Now, the Warden's got 'is nice bedroom, not near as fancy as those on the other side, but still, nice. Yeah, we sleep on cots too, but our Dorm is better fitted out than this! Yeah, I know it's because there's things they couldn't move out, but still, there it is. And we moved things in too, after the Warden loosened up the chains. AND we got the Common Room too! AND the Library! You ever see the Sergeant Major in either of those less it's business? No, all 'e's got is this little cubby'ole, and there's just nothing 'ere! Seems like most ANYTHING would be a luxury w'en 'e aint got nothing to start with!"

Chief agreed but "Sergeant Major could bring in stuff too, if he wanted, couldn't he?"

"Aw, you know 'im, Chiefy! All by the book, leastwise where 'imself is concerned. 'E'd not think it proper, most like, doing something like that just for 'imself."

"So, like I said, whatta ya got in mind?" Chief repeated, and watched that grin blossom and heard the plan spill out.

 

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins had had a long and more than a little frustrating day. He'd had to argue with the Base about the wood supply once again, even had to drive up there to assure the Supply Sergeant that first off, no, they had NOT received their truckload of wood like promised. And no, that wasn't his signature on the receipt book. And did the Supply Sergeant really think that LOOKED like it spelled out 'Sergeant Major G Rawlins'? 

"Cause from w'ere I'm standing, Sergeant Prince, it looks like it says 'Sergeant Major P Coleman'. Now aint he the one in charge of the lads over in your Commissary Annex? 'Ow about we ask 'im about my load of firewood?" 

Finding out that the delivery guys had somehow 'made an error', delivering the load across Base instead of making that trek to the Mansion hadn't eased his frustration, anymore than the not-overly apologetic assurance that 'the next load that comes available that's meant for the Commissary, we'll send it your way.' And the casual shrug he got when he reminded the Supply Sergeant that "it's November, and that big place gets cold. Just 'ow long is it gonna be?" Well, that did nothing to make him any happier.

Garrison had looked annoyed but not overly surprised. 

"We'll manage, Gil. In fact, the guys must have figured you'd not be able to come up with the supply today; they spent the afternoon scavenging deadwood and breaking it up. It doesn't burn clean, and we'll have to watch out for spiders, but it'll help some. I'll call the Base tomorrow and raise some hell. It may do some good; miracles DO happen sometimes," giving Sergeant Major Rawlins a wry look.

They spent the evening eating a sandwich together in Garrison's office, discussing other projects underway, and parted company at lights out. 

"I'll finish this last report and then I'll see the guys are settled in on my way up, Gil. You go ahead and turn in," Garrison had offered and Rawlins had headed off to the small room back of the kitchen. The only real asset it had was the one small window, and the fact that the heat from the kitchen and the boiler kept the place warmer in winter than the rest of the house.

Thumbing the light switch as he went through the door, knowing he'd left the blackout curtains in place just as usual, he stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly his eyes went around the small space. 

"Yes, this IS my room, the only one on this 'allway. But w'at 'appened to it?" 

He turned and dashed back to the office where the young officer was just placing that last sheet of paper in the Out tray.

"Lieutenant, my room, it's, it's . . ." He stuttered to a halt, not knowing just how to explain about his room.

Garrison hurried to his feet, a growing frown on his face. "I swear, I TOLD those guys to stay out of your space! What the hell did they do this time?" He just couldn't figure out the look on Rawlins's face; it wasn't anger as much as sheer bewilderment.

Rawlins just turned and led the way back to his small room, and motioned helplessly, and Garrison stood and took careful inventory. 

Well, yes, it WAS a change. The last time he'd been in here there had been an old cot and a footlocker; he'd encouraged the Sergeant Major to take what he needed from elsewhere, but the man had been determined to follow his orders of not touching the household goods, of making do with what he'd been given.

Now, taking in the worn but still serviceable area rug filling all but a few inches of the floor, he noted the rest of the changes. There was a small, simple but sturdy desk with drawers on each side obviously serving dual purpose as a bedside table. A long bookcase, only waist-high, filled the wall under the window, a few books tucked safely on one of the shelves, a white china vase painted with blue and pink daisies, holding an assortment of carefully arranged wildflowers, sitting alone in its glory. The cot was gone, replaced by a battered wooden single bed covered by the military-issue blanket that had previously been on the cot. A washing table with mirror took up the remaining corner, complete with chipped floral bowl and pitcher. And, over in front of the bookcase, alongside the desk/bedside table, was a comfortable looking faded red armchair, a reading lamp and an ashtray sitting on the desk within easy reach. 

From almost totally bare to having almost every available inch filled, it WAS a shock to the system.

Gil walked around the room, seemingly in a daze. "My footlocker with my things. I wonder . . ." Opening the drawers of the desk he found his few personal things and spare underwear. 

"You didn't do this, Lieutenant?" getting a firm shake of the head from Garrison. 

Somehow Gil knew he hadn't, even before that, even had a good idea of who HAD, though the why of it escaped him. Well, the why of a lot of the things the guys, especially Goniff, got up to escaped him. That vase of flowers over on the bookcase was just another in a long list. The odd thought came to him that that vase looked a lot like one his mum had treasured, had tried to keep filled with whatever was available, even stray weeds if nothing else.

Garrison was poking at the padded and draped covering on what appeared to be a small bench in front of the desk, obviously meant to serve as a seat at the desk, maybe an ottoman as well. 

"I found your footlocker, Gil. I don't know how comfortable it's going to be to sit on, though. You could move it into the storeroom and grab one of the extra kitchen chairs for in here." 

Garrison had entered the room prepared to be angry, had started out with a frown. Then the beginning of a smile had made its way to his face when he realized what his guys, probably under the direction of their resident pickpocket, had done. 

{"Luxury. Not silk sheets and caviar, but to Gil, I imagine it's luxury just the same."}

"But, Lieutenant, my orders . . ."

"Were not to use any of the stuff from the Mansion, I know, you told me. Well, you didn't do any of this, and besides, Gil, do you really think any of this came from the Mansion? Take another look. I'd say more likely Mrs. Wilson's back shed. And yes, I'm sure they paid her for it, one way or another, labor or otherwise. But, just to ease your mind, I'll stop by and just make sure, okay?" No, he couldn't see the guys making a strategic looting run on the elderly washer woman's store of second-hand furniture, but he'd make sure the payment had been fair.

Gil Rawlins looked at that single bed in wonder. Except for when on leave, he hadn't slept in a real bed since he'd joined up, back in his mid-teens. 

"Well, at least they left the bedding. Imagine it's a real tight fit, though. Seems it's a different pillow, though. Looks a little like my mum and dad's room, when I was a tyke. Like a little piece of home, you know?"

Maybe not the most eloquent speech ever, but Garrison seemed to understand the emotion that lay underneath, from the understanding nod the officer gave him.

It was only later, after Gil undressed for the night, turned off the overhead light and lit that reading lamp, that he turned back that military blanket to find smooth cotton sheets, worn but fitting the comfortable mattress just fine, and a much thicker, quite soft, blanket under that scratchy one he'd been issued. 

Now, propped up in bed, book in hand, he looked around him and shook his head in wonder. "Well, at least 'e didn't decide to go painting the ceiling! That might be more 'luxury' than my 'eart could stand, most like." 

And before he turned off the light for the night, he took a good look around the room once again. Warm, comfortable, welcoming. 

"A little piece of home - now that's luxury, well enough!"


	6. What Do You Get The Man Who Has Everything?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what 'little bit of luxury' could you possibly provide for a man who has such hightoned notions of luxury, something he wouldn't be able to just go out and get for himself? At first it seems an impossible task, especially when it's Actor you're talking about. It takes some heavy thinking, and asking a friend for some help, but it's just possible Goniff has accomplished the impossible.

Goniff was becoming increasingly frustrated. Oh, he'd done well, he thought, dreaming up just the right bit of luxury for Casino. And Chiefy seemed really happy with his own piece of the outdoors. And while he hadn't said a whole lot, they could all tell Sergeant Major was relishing his little cubbyhole, still small, of course, but now right welcoming, at least in Goniff's view. They'd even seen the man picking a fresh batch of wildflowers to put in that pretty little vase that Goniff had argued so strenuously on including in the mix.

But that left Actor and the Warden and those two were really proving to be a challenge.

"After all, Actor makes sure 'e gets a good dose of what 'e considers luxury, between 'im and 'is old friends and 'is ladyfriends. Got a package from one a them the other day with some pipe tobacco 'e didn't stop lecturing about for a solid 'our!" 

Meghada had listened, sympathized, but offered the obvious comment. "Well, wasn't it him lecturing you all on luxuries that started you on this project in the first place? Maybe you aren't MEANT to find something for him. Maybe just focus on the Lieutenant?"

She didn't think he'd be receptive to that idea, and he wasn't. In his own way, he was just as stubborn as Garrison, and that was saying something.

"No, I'm just not thinking about it in the right way, that's all. There's GOTTA be SOMETHING 'e don't 'ave, aint likely to get on 'is own that 'e'd consider a luxury."

"Well, maybe setting him aside just for now and focusing on the Lieutenant? Do you have any ideas there?"

"Oh, got a right fine idea, that part was easy. It's figuring out how to pull it off, that's what's got me stumped. See, this is w'at I've got in mind . . ."

And she had to admit, from anything she'd seen or heard of Garrison, that WOULD be a luxury. In fact, she'd heard him say something to that effect on more than one occasion, at least once in something approaching a shout. And she could see the difficulties as well; it would be a real challenge to make it fly.

"Very well, back to Actor. Here's a pad and pencil. Now, list down the things you know he considers a luxury, something he truly appreciates, and beside it you can mark whether he already has a full supply."

Goniff had shrugged, taken the pad and the pencil, sipped at the glass she'd poured him as soon as he'd gotten comfortable. She curled up in the other big chair, watching the expressions chase themselves across his face, wondering what had caused each, but refraining from interrupting his earnest efforts to ask, though she truly ached to know. The intricate movements, the twists and turns of Goniff's mind intrigued her, past all understanding.

He'd stopped, started to give a sigh of disgust, then a thoughtful frown turned into an eager look.

"Ei, 'Gaida. Just thought of w'at maybe he relishes the most, w'at 'e never seems to get enough of. Aint so much in my line, but YOU know lots of people." His face was bursting with enthusiasm as he explained what he had in mind.

She listened and a grin came to her; while that notion had never really occurred to her, Goniff was right. This was absolutely perfect, and she thought she knew just the right people. Oh, she might have to call in a favor or two, at first, but not once the whole thing got rolling. After all, this was right up Actor's alley. There was just one caveat.

"And you think the Lieutenant would be alright with this?" Because without Garrison's consent, this simply would be too hard to pull off.

"Oh, sure. Long as it don't interfere with the jobs. And sides, gives Actor more chances to polish 'is style, right?"

 

The first invitation came a week later, carefully addressed to the name Actor tended to use more often than not. Actor had read it, puzzled over it, and finally taken it to Garrison. 

"I cannot imagine how they got my name, Craig, or why they're asking, but it seems the University of Cambridge is asking me to deliver a lecture on Elizabethan literature."

Garrison frowned, holding out his hand for the letter. "And you don't know this Alistair Reames?"

"No, although I believe I've heard the name, or perhaps read it somewhere. I believe he IS Vice-Chancellor there as it indicates on the letterhead. Do you possibly think this could be legitimate?" 

Garrison could see the building excitement, the gratification under that calm exterior.

"Well, if anyone could do a bang-up job, it'd be you. Let me check it out, okay? I'll let you know what I find out. Then, if it's for real, we can talk about the logistics. The mission comes first, we all know that, but it's possible something could be worked out."

There was a bounce in the Italian's step that hadn't been there before.

{"There's nothing he would like better, standing there in front of an appreciative audience, expounding on one of his favorite subjects. He'd be in seventh heaven, of course, but would probably be impossible to live with afterwards."}

Garrison made a few calls, got some background, and then called for Sergeant Major Rawlins.

"Gil, where's Goniff? I think he and I have a few things to discuss."

Rawlins was glad to see Garrison didn't seem angry, more amused than anything else. Those wildflowers still brought a reluctant smile to the non-com's face. Still, he had to ask, "up to some mischief again, is 'e?"

"No, more likely he's still on his 'serving up a bit of luxury' project, though how he managed THIS, I can NOT imagine."

"I'll fetch 'im; think 'e and Chief just finished at the motor pool."

 

When the cheery little pickpocket bounced into the room, Garrison handed him the letter, watched that face light up as the contents were read.

"Coo, that was fast! 'E's gonna do it, right, Warden? You'll be alright with that, won't you?" The arguments in favor of Garrison supporting this new idea came fast and furious.

{"Obviously he had this all planned out,"} Garrison thought with some amusement.

"Maybe. Just how many of these invitations should we be expecting?" 

Well, he knew Goniff never did things half-way, except maybe the obstacle course and the firing range. If there was one invitation, there would more than likely be others.

"Well, don't know for sure," Goniff admitted. "Not which ones would chime in, anyway. There's several w'at got the word. But as for the WHAT of it all, the list I put out 'ad," and he ticked them off, one finger at a time, " 'Elizabethan Literature', 'Art of the Renaissance Period', 'Michelangelo, The Man and 'is Art', 'Romance Literature of the 18th Century', and 'Galileo and 'is Influence on Religion, Art and The Sciences'. Figured that would be enough to get their attention. I've got another list started, but 'opefully that will be enough to start."

Garrison pondered that list, looked at their supposedly undereducated, supposedly rather clueless little pickpocket, and raised a questioning brow. 

"Really. That's quite a list alright. And while I am well aware of his scientific accomplishments, DID Galileo have some particular influence on religion and art?"

Goniff gave a cheerful shrug, "beats me, Warden. But I imagine Actor will come up with something; usually does, you know, and drones on about it for as long as anyone lets 'im."

A snort of laughter from the non-com standing quietly in the corner startled both Goniff and Garrison. They'd not realized Rawlins was still in the room. 

"Yes, I imagine he will indeed come up with something. The question is, what are YOU going to come up with? I think you've gone through the list, don't you, of recipients for your 'bit of luxury' project? Maybe it's time to turn your mind back to something more to the point, like maybe trying to learn German or French? That could occupy your spare hours nicely."

Goniff wrinkled his nose, and replied, scratching his head doubtfully, "well, I'm willing to give it another try, Warden, but doubt it'll do much good. Aint got all that much of a brain, you know. 'Ave enough trouble with English, or so I'm told by some."

"Uh huh," Garrison said dryly, remembering that list of lecture topics and the easy way Goniff had rattled them off.

 

And the invitations did come, and soon it wasn't all that uncommon for the sophisticated Italian to don a severe dark suit and tie, shirtfront snowy white, and head off for somewhere to enlighten an audience about all manner of things. And while the guys admitted it was nice to see their teammate so contented, still, they all took the opportunity of his absence to complain to Goniff about what he'd started, since Actor used them as a sounding-board for his prepared lectures.

"Naw, can't blame me for that, now. Aint like 'e wasn't lecturing us all the time anyways."

"Yeah, but now it's on even worse shit than before! Couldn't you come up with some more interesting things for those lists you're sending out?" Casino groused.

"Probably could, but didn't think we'd 'ave too many takers on "Beautiful Women I've 'ad, With Details as to When, W'ere and 'ow," Goniff grinned.

Chief looked up from his cards, "don't know, Goniff. You ever want to branch out to something other than the fancy universities, you lead with that title and you just might find a whole nother audience for the man."

Goniff sniffed, ignoring the laughter coming from around the room. "We'll leave that til we've worn out the rest, maybe. Don't know Actor will feel comfortable with that, you know. Not giving out the ladies' names and all. Thinks of 'imself as a right gentleman, 'e does."


	7. You Can't Win Them All!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he'd had a good run, anyway, in trying to provide a 'little bit of luxury' for those closest to him. In his own opinion, AND in the opinion of those impacted, his efforts had had some solid results. But now he was at a standstill. Nothing he tried worked, and this one was the one he'd wanted to be successful maybe more than any of the rest. 
> 
> Will Goniff have to admit that 'you just can't win them all', or will things turn around?

"Come a cropper, I did, 'Gaida. And I really wanted 'im to 'ave 'is own bit of luxury," Goniff bemoaned. 

It seemed all his efforts to provide his Lieutenant with the luxury of privacy, uninterruped time to himself, a time without the worry of trouble from the guys, time to just take a nice nap if that's what the man wanted to do - it just wasn't to be. And for some reason, it mattered, mattered a lot, as much as if not more than the others had mattered. He should be able to figure it out, make it right! He SHOULD! There were actually tears of frustration in his hazy blue eyes now, knowing he'd failed in what he'd wanted so badly to achieve.

Meghada had watched, listened with increased puzzlement, since Goniff's plans had been sound, very detailed, and he'd put them into play, with the help of the other guys, quite smoothly. It really SHOULD have worked. And it wasn't like Goniff had tried just once; no, he'd made several attempts, each of which should have been successful.

"Maybe 'e's just too much of an officer to let 'imself relax like that. But don't see so many of the OTHER officers keeping to that line, you know? No, seen lots of them out jollifying, the ones who like that, and others joining card parties, or squiring around the ladies, or doing all sorts of things. Seems 'E only does all that when it's business or w'en ruddy HQ orders 'im to. Acourse, 'aven't seen any of them 'aving a quiet little doze, or private time, but that's the whole point, aint it? I mean, if it's quiet private time, you WOULDN'T be around to see it." 

He'd talked himself all around the circle and was back to where he'd started.

The little Cockney stared glumly at his glass, then looked over at her, "maybe I got it all wrong; maybe that's NOT what 'e'd like best, but it seemed like it would be. But if it IS, can't see why it's so ruddy 'ard to make it 'appen! 'Eard 'im say it often enough, about not 'aving any time to just sit and think without 'aving to worry about w'at we were up to, or without ruddy HQ calling about something or other. 'Ow nice it would be not to be babysitting us all the time for fear of w'at we're likely to get up to. Well, can't do nothing about them at HQ, but figured I could get the guys to agree to some down time, no mischief, no quarrelling, no nothing. We've been taking our meals afore Sergeant Major lets 'im know it's ready, so 'e's got privacy then, enough to 'ear 'is own thoughts, which 'e says 'e can't w'en we're all jabbering away. Even agreed to not tease 'im to join us at the table down at the pub; 'e comes in, we make sure there's no seat at our table so 'e don't feel obliged. 'E can sit alone or go visit with Doc Riley or Ben Miller or whoever, though 'e don't seem to want to be visiting with them much. But seems no matter w'at I try to give 'im some quiet time of 'is own, it don't work and afore you know it, there 'e is, maybe working on reports over in the corner while we play cards, or working along side us at training or chores or at least being there chivvying us on or something. NOT enjoying that bit of private time like I'd wanted for 'im. Don't know w'at I'm doing wrong!"

Meghada was starting to get an idea too, that maybe Goniff was right in thinking he'd got it all wrong, though not in any way either of them could have expected. In fact, she was beginning to think Garrison had pulled one of his best cons, perhaps even unknowingly, and was now feeling the backlash. Perhaps she wouldn't have even considered the notion, except that she, the Dragon, the wearer of masks, knew what it was to conceal what you truly were, what you truly wanted, truly needed. Maybe Lieutenant Craig Garrison was much like her, at least in some ways, hiding so much, fighting so hard to keep the reality from coming to the forefront.

She couldn't help but appreciate the irony of it all. {"So he complains about them getting into so much trouble, taking so much of his time and energy, about always have to stay close to keep an eye on them. It would seem believable enough, to them, to others, even to himself; a good solid reason for sticking so close to these men he's leading, men he'd be certainly frowned upon for fraternizing with on a social level WITHOUT having a valid reason."}

{"So now, they give him what he's been complaining he never gets, what he supposedly really wants, and he's . . . what? Maybe a little lonesome, feeling a little left out, a little bored? Maybe wishing he hadn't done such a good job of convincing everyone? Oh, Lieutenant, talk about being hoisted by your own petard!"}

{"Now, just how to deal with this without making anyone feel foolish?"} 

She sipped at her drink, watching Goniff fret and fuss, and finally came to a decision.

"Did you ever consider that what he SAYS he wants might not be really the case? He's an expert, after all; in his own way, he's nearly as good a conman as Actor is. And, like Actor, perhaps it's become easy to con himself at times, right along with all of you. 

Goniff frowned, thinking that over. "So w'at do YOU think 'e really wants, if it's not w'at 'e's been saying?"

She smiled in gentle amusement. "Well, I can tell you what I think he is discovering his little con has created. A situation where his pride won't let him find an easy way out. I think he's finally realizing what he was perhaps too stubborn to come to grips with before - that he LIKES being around you guys. Yes, you can drive him nuts at times, but you are all men he trusts in a way he can trust very few others. He can find you irritating, but he also finds you interesting, probably amusing at times, good companions much of the time. You see, as an officer, that's just not supposed to have happened. Certainly not anything he would have expected to happen."

'Because we're cons," he admitted, only to have her shake her head briskly.

"Not entirely. I've been around officers, more than I'd like, and there are damned few who'd think it acceptable to get close to their men the way Garrison has with you four. So now, the poor dear has boxed himself into a corner with his little pretense. I think perhaps he's been alone far too much in his life, and was getting very nicely adjusted to not have that be the case anymore. Was liking it, though too stubborn and proud to admit it, perhaps wanting even more of it. Now, because of his highly successful pretense, he's very much on his own again, at least on the surface. You're seeing to it that he's eating alone, drinking at the pub alone, not so much as hearing your chatter in the evenings. I think it would be best to give way, Goniff; that's not healthy for him, and someone might think to take advantage while he's vulnerable."

Goniff was looking at her like she'd lost her mind, or maybe wondering if he had. 

"So, w'at do we do, if you're right and 'e's too ruddy proud and stubborn to admit 'e likes 'aving us around, likes being with us?"

"Why, you don't give him a choice, of course. You make it obvious that it's YOU who need him around, YOU who aren't doing so well with the separation. Of course, you make sure he knows you were TRYING to do a nice thing for him, but frankly, you didn't think it would be so hard on you and the guys. You can say you're sorry for not being able to follow through, but you just couldn't take it anymore."

"And, maybe, you four need to be a little more honest with yourselves too. I think you all need to let yourselves NEED him, depend on him, a little more than usual, even, and let him know that. Because, frankly, Goniff, I think you do, all of you, if perhaps in different ways. The respect he shows you for the job you are all doing, the acceptance, you all value that quite a bit, that much is obvious. You wouldn't accept all the yelling and scolding near so well if that wasn't the case. Con the enemy, con HQ, con society and all the rest, but don't con yourselves, not about the important things. It's too easy for something valuable to get lost along the way."

The next night -

"Ei, Lieutenant. Sorry about not being able to come up with some nice bit of luxury for you," Goniff apologized again as Garrison got up to head to his bedroom.

Garrison looked at those earnest blue eyes and flashed over the past few hours. He'd been invited to dinner with the guys at Meghada's cottage, and the food, the conversation had been excellent. He had been gathered up, along with Meghada, to head out to the pub for a drink and a game of darts. 

Any objection he offered was cheerfully but firmly overridden, Chief with a quiet, "you're teaching me about chess; figure I'd better teach you about darts, just to keep things even." 

Casino even gave a laugh and told him, "and yer being around keeps that damn fool Limey from swinging from the chandelier and gettin us in trouble with Jake." 

Actor had even confided, while the others were arguing about something or other, "indeed, Craig. It has been quite difficult keeping them in line while Goniff was insisting on giving you that 'little bit of luxury', the opportunity for uninterrupted time to yourself. I'm afraid I just don't have what it takes, not like you do."

The ride back to the Mansion had been a hilarious bevy of lewd songs as offered by Casino and Goniff, and surprisingly, by Actor, though his were in Italian and French which Garrison had to translate. Garrison even offered one his Uncle Jake had taught him and Casino had almost fallen out of the jeep laughing.

A late 'just one round' of cards had turned into three, with Garrison himself overriding the 'lights out' order from Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins til the last card was laid down. 

 

Now, he smiled at Goniff, looking around at the team clearing away the debris of the card game. "You did fine, Goniff, just fine. It was nice that you thought to include me in your project. Thanks."

His resident pickpocket grinned, "yer welcome, Lieutenant. You sleep well, now." 

There was a flash of something, some knowing, some connection - there momentarily, then gone. 

And he did sleep well, after spending a little while thinking about the difference between what you TELL yourself you want and what you REALLY want. The difference between what someone else, hell, even you yourself thinks is luxury and what luxury really turns out to be. {"Tonight, that was luxury, every damned minute of it!"}

He slept, deep and sound, and awoke to the sound of Sergeant Major bellowing in the hallway, "alright, you mangy lot of shirkers! Up you go! I want to see yer lazy arses downstairs in fifteen minutes and no arguments!"

He listened, and found himself smiling at the grumbling voices and catcalls and all else. {"Alright, Garrison, you too. Up you go! You have a busy day ahead of you, you and the guys."}

He started to drift back to sleep, caught himself just in time, and hurried to catch up to the guys. 

{"Who knows what they'll get into if I'm not around,"} he told himself as he made his way to the end of the table, where their early morning grumbling had him chiding them with a quick "come on, guys. Enough talk; I can't hear myself think. Eat, we're headed to the firing range as soon as we finish."

He wondered what was up with that quick conspiratorial look being exchanged among the guys, but decided, on second thought, maybe he'd just be better off not knowing. He knew damn WELL he wasn't going to ask about that little under-the-breath chuckle Goniff had given. It was just too early in the day.


End file.
